


am I or the others crazy?

by hesnotadream



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, Temporary Character Death, Touch-Starved Alex, only sligh and temporary Michael/Maria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesnotadream/pseuds/hesnotadream
Summary: How long has it been, then, since Alex last saw daylight, since he smelled fresh air and heard kind voices?Has it been days? Weeks? It may have been months, but if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.In all of that time there had never been sounds, but one day he heard something.Michael had come to save him. And then he came again.And again.And again.But it always eneded in the same way: death.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64





	1. while time quietly kills them

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this in november and then left it and then came back and then left it that's why it's a post season 1 not season 2 compliant

Time is a tricky thing. It passes and moves and stops. In a blink of an eye years have passed without you taking notice.

How long has it been, then, since Alex last saw daylight, since he smelled fresh air and heard kind voices?

Has it been days? Weeks? It may have been months, but if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.

His cell was small and made of dark grey cement. There were no bars separating him from the outside, but a cold steel door. He wished for a window, just to see the sun, the brightness of it, to feel its warmth. But there was no window there, only a feeble light bulb, its yellow light frail and wistful. They gave him a toilet and a sink, not that that gave him much dignity, there were three cameras watching his every move after all. And there was no bed, he had to sleep on the hard floor, at times even colder than the cell itself. Sleep wasn’t something that he knew well anyway, every time he was on the brink of falling asleep electricity would come down, slithering down the walls and shock him.

He hadn’t seen anyone since he got there, his food, if you could call it that, and water were given to him through an opening in the door. He had tried to open it himself, to see what was out there, to understand where he was, but everytime he tried to touch the door he would get electrocuted. After the tenth time he had stopped trying.

There wasn’t a pattern to when the food was given to him, in this way he couldn’t even count the passing of time.

The worst part was the not knowing.

Not knowing what they wanted from him, not knowing what they were going to do to him, not knowing who had him, not knowing where he was and why.

He was alone, and he was scared.

It was a day, or night, like every other, he was shaking from exhaustion, his eyelids sticky and his limbs heavy. The silence was deafening.

But then, suddenly, he heard something.

There had never been sounds, the people who brought him food were always silent, the only noise was the plate with the food hitting the cell’s pavement, and even that wasn’t much of a sound given that the plate was made of rubber.

But he swore he had heard a sound, feet hitting a hard floor, voices in the distance.

Gunshots.

And for the first time in God knows how long, Alex felt a spark of hope. Maybe they had found him, maybe Michael was coming for him.

He tried to get up, but his body was too heavy. He was so exhausted he wanted to cry and scream but all he could manage to do was move his fingers.

His head hit the concrete wall with a loud tud. He hated being powerless and hopeless. He wanted to get up, he wanted to do something, anything, but his body wouldn’t listen.

How awful it was to be betrayed by your own body, he thought.

Granted, he wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway given the fact that they had taken away his leg, but at least it would have been something. At least he would’ve done something instead of sitting on the ground, helpless and weak.

He just wanted to sleep.

He closed his eyes and, for once, no electricity came down the walls, and if Alex had been lucid he would’ve realized that it was wrong, but he didn’t because he wasn’t.

He just closed his eyes and let sleep capture him and the next thing he knew was that the door of his cell had just been yanked away from its hinges and in front of him stood Michael in all of his power and glory. Fury marked his face, his body tense and muscular, his hair messy, matted with a dark substance, but he was still as beautiful as the first time Alex had laid eyes on him.

He looked like a righteous God and Alex chuckled, because oh boy was he delirious.

He didn’t see him move away from the door, but the next second Michael was kneeling in front of him, fury still marking his face, but now there was also something else there, something softer. He had known how to read Michael’s emotions since he was a teenager, but now it felt wrong, he didn’t know what the person in front of him was thinking or feeling. He was just so tired.

Michael was talking, Alex could see his lips moving, and he knew he should’ve been able to hear him, he knew he should’ve been overwhelmed by the sound after having spent so long surrounded by silence, but he couldn’t. And then everything went black.

When he woke up again it was because of gunshots, he was propped up against a wall and he could hear people screaming but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, everything was just too loud.

“Alex, everything is going to be okay, right? You’re going to be fine” but Michael was crying and Alex couldn’t understand what was going on.

Why was Michael crying?

He was about to ask him just that when suddenly dark dots bloomed on Michael’s chest. Like flowers in spring, Alex thought. 

And then Michael’s body fell limp on the ground, big brown eyes wide open, tears falling down his cheeks, merging with the bright red blood coming out of his mouth.

Maybe he screamed, maybe he didn’t and then another shot rang out, Alex felt it piercing his skin and then everything went black.

And then he woke up, shivering and shaking, cold tears running down his face, and an even colder floor pressing against his back.

And here it was again: silence.

Always silence.

It was just a dream, he kept telling himself, just a product of his exhausted mind .

And yet he could still see Michael’s empty eyes staring at him, tears streaming down his face, blood pooling out of his mouth and a million red poppies blooming on his chest.

And yet he could still hear the shots ringing out, blood staining his shirt, cold and sticky, and he could still feel the bullets piercing his chest, a pain so bright that it blinded him.

And yet there was no Michael, no blood and no death, just him and the silence, sitting side by side inside the cell.

And then Michael came again and again and again. And that desperation, that pain and anger was always shining just behind his eyes. Some days it would be brighter, others just a small flame, hidden and dying. Some days he would be nice and sweet, others rougher and more desperate. But he always looked the same, always wearing the same white shirt and blue jeans held up by a big belt. His hair was always wild, but not as wild as his eyes. His face as beautiful as that of a God. His skin hot against Alex’s cold body.

But no matter what Michael did, no matter if he ran or walked, if he was sweet or rough, if he whispered or yelled, it always ended in the same way. Always with the poppies and always with the bright pain. And Alex wanted it to stop. He wanted Michael to stop coming. He wanted Michal to stop dying.

Every night, or day, he cried, begging whatever God may exist to not let Michael come, for that door to not open. But the gods didn’t listen.

Until one day when they did. 

And then Michael stopped coming.

Days passed, possibly, or maybe weeks, perhaps months. Or maybe just minutes. Maybe time had stopped completely and Alex was doomed to be stuck in that cold cell for eternity. For never.

And then he heard it. 

People shouting his name, calling for him.

I’m here, he wanted to scream, but couldn’t.

Please save me, he wanted to shout, but his voice didn’t come out.

And still they found him.

The door blasted open, and Alex was scared of waking up again. 

But he had missed him. Missed his furious face, missed his righteous anger, the fire burning behind his eyes. 

He had begged him not come, but now that he was here again Alex was relieved.

Michael launched himself at his side, face unreadable, and gently caressed his cheek, eyes wet, hair matted with blood.

“We are getting you out of here. Everything is going to be fine,” he said, and Alex didn’t believe him, because this was just another cruel dream created by his weakened mind.

They were going to die and then he was going to wake up again.

“I’m sorry” Michael whispered, “but I will have to carry you”. There is nothing to apologize for, Alex thought, this is just a dream after all and you’ve done it dozens of times already.

Gunshots everywhere, people screaming and crying, boots hitting the concrete floor. Strange, he thought, he was usually unconscious for this par, too exhausted to stay awake. 

“Wait here,” Michael said, propping him against the wall, and Alex knew what was going to happen next.

But he was wrong.

Bullets flew towards them at an incredible speed, but they never reached their target.

Michael stopped them mid air, as if they were stuck in time, like Alex.

And then Michael took him in his arms and Alex hated it, hated having to be carried like a child, because maybe this time it wasn’t a dream, maybe this time he wasn’t going to wake up.

And here it was, the door, just in front of them, a few more steps and they would reach it.

But they didn’t.

The door opened before they could reach it, soldiers dressed in black coming out of it, guns held high, bullets already mid air, and Michael fell to the ground bringing Alex down with him.

Blood staining them, Michael whispered something that Alex couldn’t hear, his eyes still open but empty were the last thing Alex saw before everything went black.

And then he woke up, shivering and shaking, cold tears running down his face, and an even colder floor pressing against his back.

Was it really his exhausted mind playing tricks on him, he wondered, or was it _ them _ ? Were they doing this to him? And if so, to what end?

The problem was, he realized, that a small part of him still wished it to be true, still hoped against all hope that Michael would come for him, would burst through the door and bring him to safety, away from that hopeless grey cell.

The truth was that Alex was scared that no one was coming for him, that no one had even noticed nor cared that he had gone missing.

After reviving Max and after Michael and Maria, Alex had moved away and started to work on shutting Project Shepard down and on other alien related issues on his own. He would text them updates on his progress and his solo missions and sometimes Liz would give him a call to “catch up” but nothing more. The only person with whom he texted almost everyday was Kyle, but Kyle had way better things to worry about. Maybe no one had even noticed his absence. Maybe no one was coming for him. 

He couldn’t even remember what he had been working on before getting captured, he knew it had something to do with alien technology or something alien related. If he could just remember maybe he could find out who was holding him. At the beginning that had been his main goal, to find out what he was doing in that cell, who was holding him and why. Not knowing had been the worst part. But now? Now he didn’t care anymore, what was the point? What would “knowing” change? He would still be stuck in that awful, cold cell, he would still be deprived of sleep and dignity. He would still have to spend the rest of his days in a cold hard cell, alone and scared.

He curled up against the cold wall, even colder tears escaping from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks.

The loneliness, he reasoned, was the worst part. 

Alex had been alone all of his life, sure, in high school he had Liz and Maria, and he had friends in the air force too, and let’s not forget Michael, who had been the most inconstant constant in his life. But sometimes having people around you doesn’t make you less lonely, doesn’t fill the void inside someone’s chest. Alex had never felt like he belonged, like he was loved and cherished and cared for. He had always felt like a spare part, the one that could leave and no one would care, no one would notice. The one no one would beg to stay.

But this? This was worse. 

Alex wished for human contact, a nice voice, telling him that everything would be fine, a nice touch, comforting him, the warmth of someone’s skin in the coldness of the cell.

Anything. 

Everything.

_ Something. _

But there was  _ nothing. _

Just him and the cold and the silence.

He wished for another vision, just to feel Michael’s skin against his, his voice breaking the silence, the knowledge that someone loved him and was ready to risk everything to save him.

And at the same time he dreaded it. It brought him hope and then took it away the next second with blood and tears and pain, leaving behind nothing but Michael’s lifeless body, empty and motionless. He never wanted to see that again, never wanted to feel that pain again. Never wanted to lose him again.

But still he hoped to get a glimpse of his face, at least once before the end.

The next time Michael came Alex didn’t get up. 

“Just sit here with me,” he begged him “and hold me, please.” 

After all, what was the point of running and running and running when the destination was always the same: death. Always death. 

“Alex you have to get up. Now. We have to go, they’re coming!” Alex could feel the desperation in Michael’s voice, the dread and distress, and still, there was something wrong there, something not quite right. But after all it was just a dream, a trick of his mind, deception and distortion. That wasn't even Michael, just a memory conjured by his feeble mind.

And Alex didn’t want to get up just to be killed again, just to see Michael die again. 

But Michael didn’t care about what Alex wanted to do, he just pulled him in his arms and started walking.

“I think he’s delirious” he said to someone, which Alex found to be strange given that all the other times it had been just Michael and no one else.

“I agree” he replied, because he was. Dream after dream after dream. He was losing his mind. 

Gunshot after gunshot, people screaming, bodies hitting the ground, heavy boots thumping against the floor.

But at least he could feel Michael’s hot skin pressing against his body, filling him with warmth. He pressed his cheek on Michael’s shoulder burying his face in his neck and tightening his grip.

“Don’t let go” he pleaded, but he knew that was too much to ask. He knew that as soon as the bullets hit, Michael would let him go.

“Don’t let go” he pleaded anyways, because he couldn’t bear to feel cold again, to feel alone again. He couldn’t bear to wake up in that cell, always so dark and always lonely.

“Don’t let go” he pleaded, but the soldiers fired anyway, the bullets didn’t listen, Michael let him go. And this time Alex had all the time to watch him die. 

“I’m sorry” Michael whispered, soft but frantic breaths coming out of his mouth, hand caressing his cheek just to then fall on the ground with a loud thud. He had all the time to see the defeat in Michael’s eyes before they lost their light.

“Don’t let go” he pleaded to deaf years.

“Don’t let go” he pleaded to the dead body of the man that he loved.

He touched his cheek, still warm, still pink, still soft.

“Wake up” he screamed, tears racing down his cheeks, still warm, still pink, still soft.

“Wake up” he screamed, shaking his ex-lover’s body.

“Wake up” he screamed, not knowing if he was talking to Michael or to himself.

“Wake up” he pleaded, hugging Michael’s limp body, still warm, still pink, still soft.

And then he woke up, shivering and shaking, cold tears running down his face, and an even colder floor pressing against his back.

And then he screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

He screamed until his throat hurt, until his voice went hoarse.

He screamed until he couldn’t anymore and then he screamed some more.

He couldn’t do this anymore, he couldn’t watch Michael die time and time again. There was no worse torture than that, no worse fate than to see the love of your life die again and again, trying to save your life.

The worst part was that it never felt like waking up from a nightmare, scared and crying but relieved that everything was just a fabrication of your own twisted mind, playing tricks on you. Instead it always felt real and tangible and certain. 

He could tell himself time and time again that it was just a dream, an illusion, a nightmare, a deception, a trick, an hallucination. 

But Michael kept dying in his arms and Alex, in his darkest moments, wanted to die with him, to finally be free from this nightmare that had become his life. Because the warmth of Michael’s skin, the soft voice whispering in his ear, the gentle hand caressing his face, none of it was worth it anymore, none of it was worth having to watch Michael die day after day, time after time. 

Silence and cold and electricity were a welcome friend after the horrors of the failed escapes.

He never wanted for that door to open again, he never wanted to see Michael’s dazzling face again, he never wanted to be carried in his comforting arms again, he never wanted to stare into his dead, empty eyes again.

This time, not even a part of Alex wanted to see Michael’s face before the end.

But nobody ever listened to Alex’s wishes, he could beg and pray, but it always fell to deaf ears and unwilling souls. Alex had learned a long time ago that what he wanted didn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I will fisnish this story unlike the other one. This one is going to have only like 3 or 4 chapters and I already have the second written all out. Hope you liked this one leave whatever you want leave cause it's greatly appriciated.


	2. fighting love and other lost causes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you probably don't but if someone wants to be my beta reader lmk

Kyle was going to kill Michael. He was going to grab him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“Do you really think I would’ve called you unless I thought something was _ really _ wrong?” Alex hadn’t answered his calls or texts in two weeks,  _ two weeks _ , which was totally unusual because since he had moved away from Roswell and started working on dismantling Project Shepard and working on “other alien related stuff”, as Alex called them, he had always kept in contact with Kyle, weather via text or call and once they even face timed.

“He only calls Liz when he thinks he has found something important, he probably hasn’t found anything and that’s why he hasn’t called” Michael answered dismissively, which made Kyle even angrier than before. He decided that strangling him wasn’t a bad enough fate, he was going to grab him by his golden locks and dunk him in the water until he drowned.

“That may be true about Liz, but he always answers when I text him and if he doesn’t answer my calls he usually calls me back. I know this may seem strange to you, but I’m his friend, not his coworker. We talk and text almost every day.”

“It’s a three hours drive to Albuquerque and I don’t want to get there just to find out that Alex is doing perfectly fine and it’s just ignoring you, which knowing Alex wouldn’t be a surprise” that’s it, maybe Kyle should just burn him alive.

“But that’s what I’m telling you! He always answers my calls and texts but hasn’t in two fucking weeks, which is not normal. I’m telling you that he could be in danger and you don’t even care!” he knew that things between Michael, Alex and Maria had ended badly, he knew that was one of the reasons why Alex had left, but there is a difference between a bad break up and not caring whether you ex boyfriend is in grave danger or not.

“Okay, okay” conceded Michael “ I can free my schedule for the day after tomorrow and go and check out if he’s fine, which he probably is. Just text me the address” and then he left.

Michael did care about Alex, you can’t stop loving someone just because it’s painful. Love doesn’t just disappear when you don’t want to feel it anymore. Maybe one day in the distant future he will look at Alex and feel nothing but a little nostalgia, a pale echo of what he used to feel for the man. But for now, Michael was happy simply not thinking about Alex, not talking about Alex and especially not looking at Alex. He and Maria were doing fine. It had been almost seven months since they kissed in the bar after Caulfield and 3 months since they had actually started dating seriously. He didn’t need Alex to ruin it for him. Kyle was new to all of that, to Alex. But Michael knew Alex very well. When Alex told you that he would keep in touch he meant that he would keep in touch for maybe the first month, Kyle got lucky and got three, but then he would disappear off the face of the earth and leave you wondering whether he was alive or dead in a ditch somewhere on the other side of the world. And then he would resurface a year later acting as if absolutely nothing had happened. 

Well Michael was tired of spending his life wondering whether Alex was dead or alive.

Regardless of what Michael was tired or not tired of doing at dawn he got in his truck and started driving anyway, because while he could tell himself that Alex was perfectly fine again and again and again a part of him kept telling him that maybe something was really wrong, that he should’ve gone as soon as Kyle had told him, that maybe Alex was in danger, that maybe it was too late.

He stepped on the gas.

When Michael finally understood what had happened to Alex it was already midday. He couldn’t believe Alex had been so stupid to go undercover alone, without support, without extraction, without telling anyone where he was or what he was doing. If it hadn’t been for Kyle no one would’ve discovered that something was wrong, that he had gone missing. That Alex had been kidnapped. Captured.

So Michael did the best thing that he could, he did what was best and smart. He went to rescue Alex alone. With no plan, no backup, no rescue team and without anyone knowing where he was or what he was doing. Because that’s just what one does.

He had wanted to call the others, to tell them that Kyle had been right all along, that Michael had wasted time for nothing, that Alex was in danger. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t wait one more second, he couldn’t leave Alex alone and scared more than he already did. The others would tell him to wait. To wait for them to get off their jobs. To wait for them to arrive in Albuquerque. To wait and make up a plan. To wait because no one would agree on the plan. And Michael couldn’t wait anymore, he had already waited two days before going to Albuquerque himself, he wasn’t going to waste anymore time while Alex was suffering. 

He knew he was being irrational, he knew he was being stupid and riddiculous and insane and if someone had been there and pointed out to him all of the reasons why he shouldn’t rush into anything he wouldn’t have gone because the risks outnumbered the benifets. But no one was there, so Michael went.

The first time he laid eyes on Alex inside of that cell he was furious and scared and relieved all at the same time.

Nothing would ever compare to the joy that filled his heart the moment he realized that he hadn’t been too late, that Alex was still alive, that he would be able to see his pretty face again, hear his lovely voice, admire his dazzling smile. 

Just the possibility of never seeing Alex alive again was devastating; the thought of a world where Alex was gone was something that Michael couldn’t even fathom.

He wanted to scream and cry and laugh, because Alex was there, alive, but he was so impossibly thin and pale and helpless. He looked so fragile. It was like he wasn’t even there, like he couldn’t understand what Michael was saying, what Michael was doing.

But he was alive.

He would get better, Michael told himself, it was only a matter of time, the only important thing was getting him out, everything else could wait just a little longer.

The first time Michael failed he cried and begged Alex for forgiveness because he couldn’t save him. Because Michael was always failing him, always letting him down and hurting him. And this once he had failed him for the last time.

And Alex’s face, Alex’s beautiful face, looked so confused, as if he couldn’t understand why Michael was sobbing. Like he couldn’t understand that they were both about to die.

At least Alex wasn’t scared, he told himself selfishly, at least the last time he laid eyes on Alex’s face it wouldn’t be distorted by fear and pain, at least he wouldn’t have to see Alex’s eyes filled with terror. 

He wanted to hug him for the last time, he wanted to feel Alex’s soft skin against his, he wanted to feel Alex’s strong arms holding him close, the warmth of his cheek against his neck, soft breaths tickling him. But he couldn’t. Nothing hurt more than knowing that he would never hold Alex again, he would never hear his lovely laugh or see his blinding smile, that this was it, the end, and that there was nothing poetic about it. Everything was just ending, with no joy or justice or closure. It was just the end, cruel and sad and pointless.

Bullet after bullet hitting his body, piercing his flesh, a pain so loud it was deafening. And still that pain couldn't come close as the pain of losing Alex for the last time.

And then he woke up on Alex’s dusty floor, face wet but clothes clean.

He felt numb and dazed. Empty. He kept looking at his surroundings without actually taking anything in. He laid there, paralized, and all that he could see was Alex’s confused face, all that he could feel were the bullets hitting his chest, and in the distance, far far away, he could hear Alex screaming.

But Alex wasn’t screaming, there were no bullets inside his chest, blood wasn’t pooling out of his body. He wasn’t dead and, most importantly, Alex wasn’t there.

2:48 pm the clock read, and that too was impossible because it had taken him more than ten minutes to storm the compound, to wander its halls, to find Alex inside his cell, to be killed. 

But here he was, inside Alex’s apartment staring at a clock that didn’t make sense, without a scratch on him. Was it a dream, he wondered. Maybe after finding out where Alex was being kept he had simply fallen asleep and dreamt the whole rescue mission.

And still the desolation of losing Alex didn’t seem like a dream, didn’t seem like something that his mind would conjure up. It felt real, it felt like something tangible, almost like he could touch the pain and grief and guilt that he had felt in those last moments.

He knew it must have been real, whether it had been magic or alien technology or God himself, Michael knew it had been real. The only question was whether Alex was safe and sound inside his cell or if Michael was the only one who had been saved and Alex’s body was still lying on the ground where Michael had died.

Six hours the others said, wait six hours until we get there and then we’ll figure it out together. Michael knew they were right, knew he needed a plan. But anguish was surrounding him, pain was flowing through his heart, grief drowning him. He couldn’t sit and wait and let the darkness fester him, eat him alive from the inside out.

At 3:07 he entered the compound, this time he didn’t have to look inside their minds to find out where Alex was, this time he didn’t care about who he hurt or killed, this time he released his fury on those who had killed him, who had killed Alex.

This time Alex was like the time before, thin and pale and fragile. And so utterly out of it.

“Do you remember?” he asked, “Has this happened to you before?” but Alex didn’t answer, he just stared at his lips as if he couldn’t understand what was coming out of them.

Maybe I’m the only one who remembers, he thought.

He caressed his cheek, so impossibly pale and cold and couldn’t believe his eyes. Alex was alive in front of him and even if he was pale like snow, with big dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks, Michael couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful because he was Alex and Alex was always breathtaking.

Alex’s arms around his neck, Alex’s head gently resting upon his shoulder, Alex’s eyes looking at his face, as if he couldn’t really believe that Michael was there, his hand coming up to Michael’s cheek, soft and delicate, as if to make sure that Michael was really there, that it wasn't only and illusion.

At 3:28 the shots rang out, Michael’s body hitting the ground.

At 3:07 he woke up again on Alex’s dusty floor, face dry and clothes clean. Darkness still engulfing his heart, grief still fresh on his mind. But Alex was still alive, still lying in his cold dark cell, still waiting to be saved.

So he went there again and again and again. Everytime he would shiver at Alex’s touch, everytime he would marvel at his face, everytime he would hold him close, afraid of letting him go. And every time he would fail him, everytime he would die in front of Alex’s eyes. 

At 7:09 he woke up on Alex’s dusty floor, face wet but clothes clean and then he screamed and cried and wailed because he couldn’t do this anymore, because he needed Alex to be alive. So he stopped. Because he had been willing to die time and time again if it meant saving Alex, but the reality was that he wasn’t saving Alex, he was bringing him to the slaughter.

So he waited for the others, he waited for their plan and their ideas because he needed Alex to be safe, he needed Alex to keep breathing, to keep living.

He knew how irrational he had been, what if their “resurrections” were limited, what if in his hurry and need to save Alex he had been the one that had brought him to his death just because he couldn’t wait a few more hours, just because he had been too desperate to save Alex, just because he had lost his mind at the thought of Alex being gone?

He couldn’t risk it again, he couldn’t risk Alex’s life ever again.

He took Alex’s blanket, which still smelled like him, and curled up on his bed, which still smelled like him, and pretended that Alex was there between his arms, safe and sound and happy, and if sobbs escaped his mouth and tears fell from his eyes, no one was there to see it.

Burnt orange worry was scorching Maria from the inside, copper guilt corroding her heart

and bright red anger burning inside her stomach. Those were at least the emotions that she could bear, the ones that she understood, the ones that while painful and scary were at least acceptable.

But there were other emotions there too, emotions that she didn’t want to acknowledge, that she refused to think about. They weren’t as strong and clear as the other ones, but entangled with one another so completely that she couldn’t even tell one from the next.

Michael had died. Time and time again Michael had died without a care in the world, without even thinking how it would affect her. Without thinking that his death would mean never seeing her again, never touching her again. She hadn’t even been on his mind, he had been willing to leave her forever, to never see her again, without even saying goodbye. And now he couldn’t even touch her, he wouldn’t even look at her, as if she wasn’t there, as if they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, as if they weren’t supposed to be there for each other, comfort one another, hold each other up when they couldn't on their own. Instead every time she tried to touch him he would pull away as if it burned him, as if he couldn’t bear to be near her. She just wanted to feel his arms around her and hold him in return, she wanted to hear his voice whispering in her ear that everything would be fine, a sweet kiss tenderly placed upon her temple, the roughness of his hand gently caressing her. She wanted to be there for him and for him to be there for her, but he felt far away even if he was only mere feet away and she felt alone even if surrounded by people.

She felt selfish and vile everytime those thoughts crossed her mind because Alex was more important, because Alex was in danger and he should be her only focus, her only worry. But still the hurt and jealousy would nag at her..

Hours they sat inside Alex’s living room questioning Michael again and again, prodding him for every detail. She had to listen to Michael talking about all the ways he had died as if it wasn’t tearing her apart from the inside. His heart had stopped beating, his lungs had stopped breathing, he had been gone from this world. The knowledge that he had been dead was too much to bear. He had died and she wouldn’t have been able to see him again, to hear his teasing voice and warm laugh, to feel his rough hands upon her skin, his soft kisses on her lips. Michael had died time and time again and here they were, talking as if that hadn’t happened, as if meant nothing, as if it wasn't a big deal. She wanted to scream at them, all of them, what were they thinking! Michael had died for god sake, she had lost him forever and no one cared. They just kept making their plan and then, after what seemed like a second, they were already ready to go.

Maria wanted to stop them, to tell Michael that he didn’t have to go, that Jenna, Isobel and Max were enough, that they could do it on their own, that they were good enough, that she couldn’t stand the idea of Michael dying again.

But she didn’t.

She wanted to hug Michael, to kiss him again, to wish him good luck and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that they would bring Alex back, safe and sound. But Michael was distant, he wouldn’t even look at her, so she stood back, she didn’t hug him and she didn’t kiss him, only letting a soft “good luck” leave her lips.

At 10:39 pm they walked out of the door and at 10:50 they appeared on the living floor, Michael’s face wet with tears that wouldn’t stop falling and Maria’s heart broke for the millionth time that day because Michael had died again.

She ran at his side, tears already streaming down her cheeks, and hugged Michael like she had never hugged him before, her arms holding him as tight as she could, afraid of letting him go, afraid that he would disappear, afraid that he would die and stay that way.

But when Maria pulled away and looked him in the eyes she realized that she had lost him anyway, that regardless of the outcome of this mission Michael was never going to be hers again and what hurt the most was the suspicion that maybe Michael had never been hers in the first place, at least not totally, not completely, not truly.

“He remembers everything” Michael whispered, “he said he'd been there for months.” and then he broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always really proud of the first chapter of story but not the ones after. This one doesn't feel as polished or well written as the first one, it feels more chuncky and clumsy idk hope you enjoy anyway
> 
> Is the formatting fine or should fix it?
> 
> I know you probably don't but if someone wants to be my beta reader lmk
> 
> I love your comments thanks for leaving them


End file.
